Nayan picked up the thread. “I was no happier to be thrust into exile. I put out his fires, destroyed and hid objects in his hut—everything I could to provoke him into chasing me away. And perhaps he would have, boon or no boon, except one day, I fled into the forest and encountered a fellow wayfarer who wished to hear my tale.”

He circled the table again. “To my astonishment, not only did this person reprove me, but he stated that if I persisted in my foolishness, I would lose everything I claimed to fight for. He convinced me so thoroughly, in fact, that when I returned to the hut, I prostrated myself before the sage and implored him to teach me.”

“That must have been quite the lecture,” Trishala said. “What happened then?”

“At last he deigned to instruct me in the art of meditation and mastering one’s impulses. Over time, my blood cooled, and my awareness expanded. I remained with him until his last breath, which he used to invoke his boon. As you might expect, he asked for his own rejuvenation.”

“Naturally,” said Dharmesh. “What else?”

“We parted ways and returned to our respective lives, but with opposite roles. The sage went off to enjoy his second youth, and I, having matured, rejoined the naga court.” Nayan took his seat.

“And that is my tale,” he concluded, placing a hand on Venkat’s shoulder. “But it is also a single chapter in our tale, the ongoing saga of our people. If I could learn humility and to work in harmony with those I had once believed to be holding me back, you may all avail yourselves of this opportunity to set aside your machinations and maneuvering and stand together for the greater good. It is your choice: How do you wish this chapter to end?”

More hissing ensued as the other representatives of the eight clans deliberated amongst themselves, but this round left Venkat more optimistic.

Minutes later, one by one, they joined their palms before their faces, each repeating, “My clan and I stand with you, Your Majesties.”

“We must mark the occasion. I propose a celebratory picnic on the Lake of Lovers’ Tears,” said Asha’s mother. Her eyes flared gold with enthusiasm. “It is tradition to host such a picnic in honor of the intended, and all Bhogavati will be welcome. The clans must see a future in our standing together as one.”

Of course it had to be another party. Of course. Venkat stared askance at the table runner. Did the nagas even know how to do anything else?

At least she’d picked a good location. Venkat had only been to the lake once, but he’d never forgotten it. The legend of how it came to be sang to him as strongly as when he had first learned it.

“In our combined strength, there is hope,” Chintu’s uncle chimed in.